Page 13 of Malevolent Secrets

He smiles, a slow, enigmatic smile that sends a shiver down my spine. “I admire your determination.”

We fall into a companionable silence, the music and noise of the club fading into the background. There’s something magnetic about him, something that draws me in despite the danger. Maybe it’s the way he looks at me, like he’s trying to see into my soul. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol lowering my inhibitions.

“Tell me what answers you’re looking for.” His voice sounds so persuasive. I get the feeling that he is very good at getting people to tell him things.

“I would. But I’ve been told to keep my questions to myself if I want to keep my life.”

He doesn’t look shocked.

“And who would have told you that?”

Something has crept into his voice, something that sounds like humor wrapped in danger.

“The bartender.” I jerk my head her way. “She seems nice though, caring about my life and all. Plus, she makes really good…what did you say this drink is called?”

“I didn’t.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t tell you what it’s called.”

“Oh, right. Well, either way, she makes it really well. And you’re nice. You seem very nice.”

He chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that makes my stomach flutter. “Appearances can be deceiving.”

Our eyes lock and in that moment, something shifts between us. The air is charged with a tension that’s both thrilling and terrifying. I can’t explain it, but I feel drawn to him in a way I’ve never felt for any man before.

Those sensuous lips are inches from mine. All I would have to do is lean forward just a little to kiss him. And I realize that that is all I really want to do in this moment.

As if he has heard my innermost desires, he reaches out to trail the pads of his long fingers down my cheek. His dark eyes travel along the path that his fingers are taking. I tremble beneath his touch, feeling alight with awareness and desire in spite of myself.

He traces along my jaw, and then his thumb comes up to rub my lower lip softly. I part my lips instinctively, and he smiles again. “So pretty,” he says softly, as if to himself. “Too good for this place.”

I want to ask him what he means. I want to demand that he explain himself, but I barely have time to formulate that thought before his lips touch mine. I moan. I can’t help it. My entire body feels like it has gone up in flames.

He kisses me slowly at first, his lips just barely pressing against mine, but when I moan, something changes in him. He grabs my waist and yanks me against him.

I can feel his hardness against my hip bone, and I moan again, desperate for his touch in spite of the logical part of my brain screaming at me to run away.

As his tongue invades my mouth, I allow myself to be swept up in the passion that has ignited between us. I loved Jeremy, and making love to him was sweet and fun, but this…this is something else entirely. I feel like I’m dying and like I’m flying, all in the same breath.

“Let me take you home,” he murmurs against my lips.

I move back, shifting into my seat and fighting the embarrassment. I've just kissed him, a total stranger. His eyes are trained on me, his lips stained with my red lipstick. Somehow this makes him even more desirable to me.

Gray. His eyes are the most intense shade of gray I’ve ever seen. And his smell, he smells so good. I just want to burrow into it and never come out.

“Okay.” The word pops out of my mouth so naturally.

He pulls out cash and drops it on the bar, then he leads me toward the exit of the club with his hand on the small of my back.

Just like when he was coming in, people move away as we walk through the crowd, and I can feel them staring at me. Or maybe they’re looking at him?

We leave the club together, the cool night air is a stark contrast to the heat of the club. He leads me to a sleek, black car parked nearby, opening the door for me with a gallant gesture. I slide into the passenger seat and he shuts the door.

He gets into the driver's seat and immediately places his hand on the exposed skin on my thigh. The gesture is hot, so hot. For a while I think he’s going to move it higher and higher, but he doesn’t. He just leaves it there, a pulsing brand on my skin.

I look at his hand, resting on my thigh. His fingers are long and elegant. They look like the hands of a pianist or an artist, but I can feel the strength of them hiding behind the lie of gentility. The thought is thrilling to me. Everything about him is like a blunt weapon wrapped in silk. He’s both beautiful and deadly in equal parts.

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